


cut the headlights, summer's a knife

by stilinskitrash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crushes, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Pining, rich!arya and groundskeeper!gendry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 06:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20403187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskitrash/pseuds/stilinskitrash
Summary: In the wake of her father's suspicious death, Arya escapes to her family's country home to handle her grief. Whilst seeking solitude and space, she ends up becoming intrigued by the manor's groundskeeper, and being reminded that it's okay to ask for help.





	cut the headlights, summer's a knife

People mourn in different ways. Robb’s grief manifested as anger, unbridled and painful. He as highly suspicious, certain that the car crash that had killed their father had been orchestrated by the Lannister’s, and was in the midst of building a court case against them. Sansa was handling her grief with a stern face and great repose, but behind closed doors Arya knew that her sister was falling apart. She buried herself in revising for her University exams, and made little time for much else. Bran was 16; he wavered between collapsing into tears and thinking he had to put on a brave face. And little Rickon, only 14, often sobbed as their mother cradled him.

It may not have been the healthiest decision, but Arya just had to get out of there. A day after the funeral, she packed a bag of clothes and moved out of their family home, and into one of the Stark estates nobody ever stayed in anymore. Travelling west, Arya left to spend an undecided amount of time at the manor her family had owned for years in the Yorkshire Dales: Acorn Hall. They used to go there for weekend breaks, basking in the sloping hills and natural beauty. They’d had summer parties there and host weddings and anniversaries for friends and families. Some of her brightest and warmest memories with her family had taken place there. In the past few years, her parents had been too wrapped up in work to organise trips there, and Arya and her siblings had become old enough to have calendars that afforded little family holiday time. 

Catelyn had asked her not to go, to stay by her family's side, but her chest ached when she was home. Every piece of furniture, every photo, every corner of every room, held memories of her father. Now, it was all tainted. She left before her mother could object further.

It was early March, and spring had sprung. Arya arrived late in the evening at the manor, just as a frost was beginning to settle on the grounds. Navigating down the country roads had been a task and a half, and she was ready to make herself a cup of tea and fall asleep in the armchair by the fire. She’d phoned up the estate beforehand, and been notified that there was a groundskeeper living nearby who would be there to help her with anything during her stay. 

Beside her, Nymeria whined. Her dog just about fit in the passenger seat, but had hung her head out of the window for most of the journey, tongue flapping in the wind.

Huge trees and two stone pillars framed the drive up to the house, lit dimly as the sky began to change from an array of warm oranges and pinks to a darker blue. Ivy climbed the old brick walls, and one of the windows on the second floor was completely boarded up. The manor was even older than their actual home, and was now falling into disrepair due to a lack of attention. But it’s livable, and Arya just hoped that it wouldn’t bring back too many overwhelming memories.

  


—

  


She was greeted at the door by one of the housekeepers, Osha, who had Arya always liked for having a disregard for what was “proper” in her parents eyes. Osha was older now, but with the same wild brown hair and wide grin.

She choose to sleep in the room she always had as a child. It felt like it was too soon to claim the master bedroom. She found some stuff had been left in her old rooms; a few toys, a jumper that probably would still fit her, and a photograph of Arya with her Nymeria as a puppy. The bed had been made, presumably by Osha, tucked in tightly at all corners. Arya fixed herself a cup of tea in the kitchen, which was too large and too empty, but Arya didn’t really feel alone. It was the first moment of real quiet she’d had since her father's death. She let her mind switch off, if just for a minute.

Nymeria curled around her feet as she pulled up a chair at the dining table, and Arya nursed the hot mug of tea between both her hands. The sun had set, a dark sheet had pulled across the sky. She could hear Osha pottering about somewhere, and she assumed more staff would be around tomorrow, checking on the house. But none of them would bother her, and Arya was glad for it. Though her shoulders still felt heavy and she couldn’t quite muster up the courage to picture her father’s face, Arya knew she’d done the right thing for herself. Finding solace. Her grief was too much to handle with so much else going on, even if that was selfish.

She fell asleep right there, at the kitchen table, and woke to find Osha had draped a blanket over her shoulders during the night.

  


—

  


Her first day at Acorn Hall was a lovely one, and Arya took full advantage of it. She became acquainted with some of the other grounds staff, like the lovely giant Hodor who worked in the stables. Nymeria disappeared often, sometimes coming back with a small animal between her teeth. The sun made the house look even more grand than she remembered. Thick ivy crawled up the walls, sprouting from the shrubbery that adorned every side of the house. It had all been well manicured by the grounds staff despite not having any occupants, which filled Arya with a strange sense of emptiness. Life had gone on here even when the Stark’s had forgotten it.

Arya had been sat in the summer house in the back garden for an hour or so, entertaining Nymeria and doodling absently in her journal, when she spotted someone across the grounds she didn’t recognise. He looked young, tall, strong. He wore wellies and had his hands tucked in his pockets, walking towards the manor. 

_ That could be the groundskeeper _, she thought to herself, running her fingers through Nymeria’s fur as her dog dozed in the sun. The man disappeared into the back of the house, near the kitchen. It wasn’t like Arya has much better to do than irritate a stranger, so she slipped her feet back into her sandals and ran over.

He was humming to himself in the kitchen. From behind, she could more clearly take in his stockily built frame, strong shoulders, dark hair and well worn clothes. She realised he was making himself a cup of tea in her kitchen.

“Can I help you?”

The mug he was going to pour his tea into smashed on the stone floor.

“Fuck me,” he cursed, clutching his chest as he swung around to face her. Arya was instantly taken aback by how attractive he was, but the look on his face had her doubling over with laughter instead.

“Do you always greet new people like that?” He grumbled.

Arya shrugged, “makes an impression.”

“It sure as fuck does.” The groundskeeper bent down and began scooping the larger shards of the mug into his palm.

“I think you need a dustpan and brush.”

His head snapped up to glare at her. “You think?”

Arya held her hands up in mock defence, “wake up on the wrong side of the bed much?”

The man’s face deadpanned. “You’re not serious.”

He was still picking up shards when he started cursing under his breath vehemently, and she spotted a drop of blood had hit the floor.

“Jesus,” Arya muttered, running to the sink. “Hold you hand under here.” She commanded, and all he can do is stare at her.

“Who the hell are you?” He wondered, brows knitted.

“Arya,” she sighed, “now get over here. You’re bleeding on my floor.”

His face shifted almost instantly. The anger and confusion dulled into a more passive expression, his shoulders sagging. “Fuck, shit.” He muttered to himself before standing up. A piece of mug crunched beneath his foot. “Ned Stark’s daughter.”

Arya tried not to flinch at the mention of her late father's name. “Yep,” she hummed, popping the P out of awkward habit.

“I’m sorry,” he said robotically, “I didn’t know. I thought you were arriving tomorrow. You look—” He halted himself abruptly, a frown falling across his face.

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have scared you.” She admitted, guiding his hand under the flow of the tap. He had rough, workers hands. Scarred hands. 

“I wouldn’t have just walked in if I’d known the Stark’s were back in residence.”

“It’s just me,” she corrected, her voice smaller than before. She was trying not to feel ashamed for hiding out here, but every reminder that she was here alone made her feel a little worse. “No one else.”

He frowned, but was still staring at the sink. The water ran off red where it hit the cut on his hand. “Oh.”

Arya realised belatedly that she really didn’t need to still be holding his hand, and that he could hold his hand under the sink perfectly fine by himself. She flinched away from his contact, and hoped he didn’t react to her sudden awkwardness.

“I’m Gendry, by the way.” He said after a few beats of silence. “The groundskeeper.”

Arya nodded. She had her arms braced against the counter beside the sink, her back to it. A picture they took as a family when Arya was 8 stared back at her on the wall. “Did you, uh, did you know my father?”

“Yeah, I did. He made an effort to keep up with the grounds staff, actually. You know, check in every now and then. He was a great man. Easy to talk to — _ nice _to talk to. He kept me in work when I needed it. I’m really sorry for your loss.” 

He sounded so sincere and it made Arya strain to reign in her emotions. Her fists gripped the counter tighter. “Thanks.”

“Do you have any plasters?”

Arya pulled her walls back up (she’d hardly realised she’d let them down even a little) and pushed off the counter abruptly. “I think so, let me go check.”

In the privacy of the downstairs toilet, Arya rooted through the medicine cabinet. Her mind suddenly fixated on all the things Gendry might have to say about her father. He knew him from a different perspective, as an employer, maybe a friend. She was overwhelmed with possible questions and answers and the desire to fill her mind up with information about him so she didn’t lose him forever. So she didn’t forget him.

There were some plasters in a small plastic case on one of the shelves. When she returned to the kitchen, Gendry was sucking at the wound. She waved a plaster at him. “Here, you’re welcome.”

He smirked, “_ thank you. _”

The kitchen door, that she didn’t properly close, swung open as Nymeria came bounding in. Her dog saw Gendry and immediately tensed up, cosying up to Arya’s side so she could pet her affectionately.

“Is that yours?” Gendry gaped.

“_ She _ is mine, yes.” Arya said proudly, grinning as she bent down to nuzzle her face in Nymeria’s soft coat. “Her name’s Nymeria, and she doesn’t like men.” Which wasn’t strictly true; Nymeria loved Ned and her brothers. 

Gendry barked a laugh, “that’s fair. She’s… lovely.”

Arya’s brow furrowed, “_ lovely? _”

“In a really fierce, cool way.” He amended, his cheeks reddening.

She bit back a smile and ran her hand along Nymeria’s back. 

“You live nearby, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Gendry brushed his uninjured hand through his hair. “On the other side of the estate.”

Arya could picture the house, picking it out from her memory. The groundskeeper who’d lived there when they were kids had been old and grouchy, and they’d spent bored summer days playing pranks on him. The new groundskeeper was _ entirely _ different.

“I better sweep up the rest of the mug before Nymeria hurts herself,” Arya sighed, a vague prompt for him to make an exit. Gendry nodded as he began to fiddle with the plaster wrapped around the right side of his left hand, but took his cue.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see you around?”

“Well, I do live here.” Arya quirked a brow at him.

Gendry went a little red. “Shit, yeah. Sorry.”

That smile tugged at her lips again. “See you around, Gendry.”

He smiled at her then, an embarrassed smile, soft around the edges. He looked suddenly more boy than man, though he had to have been in his twenties.

“See you around, Arya.”

  


—

  


She avoided watching TV, reading the paper or listening to the radio. Everywhere she looked, there was coverage of her father’s death. It was like a living nightmare; she didn’t need a reminder of what happened. The media circulated gossip and outrageous conspiracies about the incident, and it was the last thing Arya wanted to read or hear about. They invaded the privacy of her siblings and mother, ruthlessly hunting for exclusive interviews. Arya Stark’s sudden disappearance and lack of attendance at court dates and press events did not go unnoticed.

  


—

  


Gendry was probably the most interesting thing about being back at Acorn Hall, she soon discovered. It was beautiful, and old, and nostalgic, but there wasn’t a huge amount to do. She couldn’t decide if that was good. On one hand, she wanted distractions. From her father and her family and her grief. On another, maybe it was healthier to not be constantly distracting herself. To spend time working on her grief. But then why move all the way out to the countryside? Her mind was a cluster of messy, overwhelming thoughts. She could hear Sansa’s voice in the back of her head telling her to _ get a goddamn therapist like everyone else on the planet. _

She spotted Gendry from her bedroom window one morning not long after their first meeting, a bundle of logs slugged over his shoulder in a netted bag. He was heading for the stores, which were below the kitchen. Before she knew it, she was shrugging on a coat and boots and rushing downstairs. 

Arya caught him just outside the backdoor. His brow was slick with sweat from the weight of the bag, but the morning air is a little sharp. Dawn has crept up on them, hazy and with a fine layer of mist. It’s a gorgeous spring morning, all soft colours and dew drops. Gendry was locking the door that lead down to the stores when he turned around and nearly jumped out of skin at the sight of her.

“Jesus fuck!” He yelled, eyes wide. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

Arya shrugged slyly, “not my fault you didn’t hear me coming.”

“I’m a groundskeeper, not a hunter. I couldn’t fire a gun at a pigeon if it was a foot in front of me, or track a rabbit if it left me trail of sweets to follow. I’m sure as fuck not gonna be attuned to the sounds of your little feet approaching.”

“_ Little? _” Arya glared, her arms folded crossly.

Gendry raised his brows, “you’re telling me you’re over 5”4?”

She didn’t dignify the question with a response.

“Why are you up so early? It’s like 6am. I thought ladies lounged in until the afternoon when they were awakened to tea and cake.”

_ More _ assumptions that ground Arya’s gears. “I’m not a lady, and I don’t do tea and cake.”

“No? Not even chocolate?”

Arya pouted. “Okay, _ that’s _ a dumb question,” she grumbled.

“I thought people who lived in houses like Acorn Hall were lords and ladies, or at least dukes and duchesses.” Gendry shrugged, but his smirk told her that he was only teasing her. (And taking great pleasure in it.)

“My _ father _ was a lord,” she corrected. “And I’m allowed to get up whenever I please, and go wherever I want. It’s my estate, if you forgot.”

“Is that so?”

“_ Yes. _”

Gendry laughed breezily before turning on his heels away from her. Arya had to jog to keep up with his broad steps, and pulled her coat tighter around her.

“Need something?” He asked, suspicious of her and probably with jobs to be getting on with.

“I don’t think so.” she hummed.

He frowned. “Then why are you bothering me?”

“I didn’t realise I was _ bothering _ you.” She mumbled, face scrunching up. There was no need to be so rude.

“Well, you are.” He said, but without any bite. As if it were just a fact.

Arya skipper a few steps ahead before stopping right in front of him. She tried not to feel intimidated by their size difference, which would’ve been comical in most situations. He had a serious case of bedhead that Arya thought could be permanent and a line of unshaven stubble along his jaw. Stormy blue eyes stared down at her. Arya folded her arms indignantly. 

“I have a right to know what my groundskeeper is getting up to.”

Gendry scoffed, “_ your _ groundskeeper?”

Arya prickled. “I’m a Stark, am I not?”

“Yes.”

“And the Stark’s own this estate, do they not?”

His voice stayed placid. “Yes.”

“So are you not my groundskeeper?”

“No.” He grinned. 

Arya squinted at him, taking a step forward. The birds were singing in the trees around them. “You’re just winding me up.”

He considered her for a moment, then nodded once. “Yes.”

She guffawed at him wordlessly before he side stepped around her and kept walking, headed towards the woodland. 

  


—

  


Arya thought about Gendry all morning. Hell, she thought about him all week. He was the only member of staff in the manor who wasn’t walking on glass around her. He didn’t treat her like some wounded puppy who’d turned up, and it was a breath of fresh air. Everyone who’d been around her for the past month did nothing but patronise her, and speak to her as if she was a child. She was grieving, but she was strong. She didn’t need to be babied. 

And Gendry seemed to love getting on her nerves. She sort of liked it. It was a surprisingly good distraction from the shit show that was the rest of her life.

  


—

  


Gendry was annoying she decided, in more ways than one. Annoyingly infuriating, annoyingly attractive, annoyingly good at his job. She was watching him from her desk — she’d become a creep, god — check over and weed the shrubbery on the side of the house, visible from her bedroom window, when her phone buzzed. Sansa’s name lit up the screen.

She debated turning it over and ignoring the call for a minute too long, and instantly felt shame creep into her cheeks. Since arriving at Acorn Hall, she hadn’t spoken to anyone in her family, but they hadn’t reached out to her either. She senses that they felt a little betrayed that she’s upped and left, and she wished they’d understand. Jon was the only one who’d messaged her, just to check she’d arrived safe and sound. She assumed he’d relay it to the rest of the family anyway.

Arya picked up the call.

“Oh, hi.” Sansa spoke first, surprised, as if she’d just given up on Arya answering.

“Hi,” Arya breathed awkwardly. 

Silence lapses between them.

“Did you want something?” Arya asked cautiously.

Her sister audibly bristled at the assumption. “Do I have to want something to call my own sister?”

“No,” she rolled her eyes. “Sorry.”

She could hear Sansa chewing on something anxiously down the phone. “Mum wants to speak to you.” 

Arya frowned, “so she can call me and speak to me then.”

“Arya,” Sansa sighed, “don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not!” she laughed exasperatedly, “It’s not like I wouldn’t pick up.”

“You’re the one who left, Arya. She doesn’t think you want to speak to her, not after she asked you to stay and…” and she didn’t.

Outside, Arya noticed Gendry wielding a pair of shears, hacking away at a stubborn hedge.

“Yeah, I get it.” She sighed. “I’ll call her.”

“Tonight.” Sansa instructed.

“Soon.”

Sansa clucked her tongue on the other end of the line. “You're being difficult.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I process things differently to you, Sansa. I’m sorry I can’t fold my grief into a nice little box and shuffle it away and pretend like everything’s fine, like you.” she snapped, and the words tasted nasty on her tongue. Regret reddened her cheeks almost instantly.

The line crackled quietly.

“Call mum.” Sansa said again, and hung up the phone.

Only a few minutes later, she received a text from her sister, too.

** _Sansa_ ** _ : Seriously, please call her. _

She grit her teeth. It gnawed at her that her own grief was affecting her family. Guilt began to ebb away at her, and it didn’t feel fair. How was she supposed to process her own emotions without hurting others? She’d never really learned how. She knew that her mother would benefit from a text from her, but they’d left things so awkwardly when she’d left for Acorn Hall. 

Arya pushed aside her pride and pulled up her mother’s contact number.

  


—

  


She decided quickly enough that eating alone was dull, and sad. And that she wasn’t a particularly good cook. Osha had offered to cook her up something to eat pretty every night, but Arya continuously refused. She’d ended up eating beans on toast most nights, and she was sick of it. 

Sansa used to cook on Tuesday nights, instead of their mother or the cooks, and it was always amazing. Her sister had a flare for sensation, for colour and flavour and style. She was good at craft and cooking and fashion and art. Arya was good at all the opposite things. 

It was a Friday night and she was shovelling down an especially sad tea — some peas, two potato waffles, some baked beans — when there was a knock at the kitchen door. In the light of the outdoor lamp, Arya just about made out a male figure.

Gendry was on the doorstep, mud coating his boots, his trouser legs, his jacket sleeves, his hands, even his jaw. None of this was out of the ordinary, he did work outdoors everyday.

“You are _ not _coming in,” she scoffed, looking him up and down.

His eyes rolled, “am I interrupting something?” He craned around her, getting sight of her very, very sad meal for one. Gendry laughed. “No party guests?” 

Arya thumped the side of his arm. “Did you want something?”

“Did _ you _?” he asked her.

She frowned, “why would I?”

He raised his brows and looked in the direction of her single meal.

“You’re inviting yourself round for tea.” she deadpanned.

“No,” he shrugged, “I’m just offering you some company.”

“I have plenty of company.”

Gendry narrowed his eyes. “Nymeria doesn’t count.”

Arya didn’t even know where her dog was right now. Nymeria was loving living on the estate, lots of animals for her to hunt and fields for her to run in.

“If you take off your dirty shit, you can come in.” she bit, returning to the kitchen table stiffly.

Gendry didn’t even hesitate as he kicked off his boots and left them on the step, coming inside. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat pegs, and was beginning to unbutton his pants when Arya choked on her tea.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He looked at her innocently, but his smirk gave him away. “Taking off my dirty shit.”

Arya glared, “pants _ on _ please.” She instructed, but a part of her suddenly felt a little hot at the idea of Gendry in her kitchen without any pants on. She focused resolutely on the peas on her plate, trying to shirk _ that _image from her head.

“Suit yourself,” she smiled, and pulled up a chair beside her. 

They sat in silence, Gendry’s arms crossed as he watched her expectantly.

Arya’s cutlery hit the plate loudly. “Can I help you?” she snapped.

“Usually, hosts offer their guests food.” 

Her jaw slackened, _ the cheek _.

Abruptly, she pushed away from the table and began rummaging through the kitchen cupboards. They were still pretty bare. She hadn’t gone grocery shopping still, and was living off food that Osha could pick up from the local store. Which probably also explained her lacklustre meals.

“How do you feel about toast with…” she searched the fridge, “ketchup.”

Gendry hardly seemed bothered. “Don’t you have any butter?” 

“Finished it this morning, I’m afraid.”

“Then suddenly I don’t feel very hungry.”

Arya continued searching. She felt hyper aware of Gendry’s eyes watching her, and it had all of her senses on edge.

“Uhhh, I can make you a fish finger sandwich?”

Gendry’s eyes practically lit up. 

“I thought you weren’t hungry,” she mocked, grabbing the fish fingers from the freezer draw.

He shrugged nonchalantly, “my hunger has returned, it’s a miracle. What can I say?”

“Maybe ‘Thank you’?” she suggested, a smile slipping onto her lips.

Arya has finished her tea by the time Gendry’s food was ready, but she couldn’t just leave him to eat alone in her kitchen. Again, she felt like a creep watching him, so settled on doing the washing up whilst he ate. 

“Can I ask why you’re here alone?” he said suddenly, with a mouthful of fish fingers and bread. 

Her hands froze over the plate she was holding. “You can,” she answered carefully.

“Cool. Why are you here alone?”

Arya scrubbed the plate slowly, submerging her hands in the bubbles. “I said you could ask, not that I’d answer.”

Gendry chuckled, “right, well played.”

She turned to face him, letting the plate sink to the bottom of the bowl. “Can I ask _ you _ why you work here?”

His brows raised in confusion, “okay.”

“Why do you work here?”

“To earn money.” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing. Maybe it was; Arya had never had to work a day in her life to earn money. She felt a little sheepish thinking about that, about all the privilege she grew up with. Gendry had never had that.

“But, of all the places you could work, you choose here,” she continued. “You’re young, you’re…” _ handsome _ , “you’re _ you _, and you choose to work on an estate miles away from other people your age, where there’s jobs and nightlife and parties and excitement. Why?”

He stared at her a little funny when she finished, one side of his mouth tugging gently into a smile.

“The party life might be for some people, but I’m pretty content living away from all of that. The city can be overwhelming, and complicated. Life’s simple here. I work, I get paid, I eat, I go to sleep. Simple.”

It didn’t sound like much of a life to Arya, Arya who loved travelling and meeting new people. Who loved going out and parties and adventure. 

“But don’t you want more from life?”

His eyes softened a little before he shrugged his shoulders gingerly. “Maybe,” he said noncommittally. “For now, I have all I need right here.”

Arya turned suddenly back to the sink. She was scared that if she stared at his face for any longer she’d become reckless. She was already a reckless being by nature.

“And anyway,” he added behind her, “I owed it to your father. He helped me when I was younger, and I wanted to return the favour. Being employed by him worked in both of our favours.”

“How did he help you?”

Arya jumped out of her skin violently as his plate landed right beside her on the counter. He had appeared by her side, with dirt still on his jaw and a far off look in his eyes. His plate was empty.

“Another time,” he managed a smile, but it looked like it pained him. Whatever memory he was recalling, it obviously wasn’t a positive one. That only made Arya want to know even more, and of course, her father wasn’t there to tell her if Gendry wouldn’t.

She bit her lip and nodded, not wanting to press him. After all, she hadn’t told him why she came to Acorn Hall alone. They bid each other goodnight, and Arya watched silently as he collected his things and began the walk back to his home on the other side of the estate. It suddenly felt very far away.

  


—

  


When she woke the next morning, someone had slipped a piece of paper under the kitchen’s back door. It was a note with a roughly scrawled address on it. _ Do your grocery shopping. Or I’ll subject you to my cooking next time _it read at the bottom. Arya smiled and tucked the note into her back pocket. Later that day, she took a trip into the small village only 5 minutes away, and stocked up her entire fridge.

  


—

  


Arya stood beside a beautiful black horse, stroking her fingers through its mane, as Hodor readied her to be ridden. It was a beautiful spring evening, and Arya had felt inspired to go for a ride. She hadn’t ridden much in the past few years, and was desperately hoping that the horse wouldn’t throw her to the floor. Hodor didn’t say much — he was basically mute — but smiled at her kindly, and gestured towards all the riding gear she’d need. Arya was about to mount the horse when she heard a loud, grating squawk of a laugh from outside the stables.

She turned around in time to catch Gendry leading a brunette woman down the path to the woodland that lay between the manor and his home. Arya’s jaw almost dropped. Her mind whirred as she watched them become smaller and smaller. _ Gendry had a girlfriend. _ Or, he was hooking up with her. Or, they were just friends. How would she know? It wasn’t something she’d ever broached with him in conversation. It wasn’t any of her business. She’d only known the guy a few weeks. Yet, Arya felt weirdly jilted at the idea of it.

Hodor tapped her shoulder and Arya snapped her attention back to the horse. Filled with new, not necessarily good energy, she mounted the horse and set off from the stables. Riding a horse was not like riding a bike. But Arya quickly got back into the swing of it, and directed the horse down the same path she’d seen Gendry and the woman go down. She caught up soon enough, and raced right past them. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe to show Gendry she’d seen them, which made her feel petty and stupid. Why would he care that she saw them? He worked for her, but his life didn’t revolve around her.

She raced the horse through woods, down a clear path, and out into the field on the other end. Adrenaline had her pushing the horse faster under the orange sky. Slowly, she came to a stop just by the little stream on the far end of the field, and jumped off. As the horse had a drink, she stroked it gently and stared back at the woodland. Where Gendry lived. Where he was with that woman. God, why did she care?

  


—

  


Arya stood slack jawed in the doorway to Acorn Hall, staring at her sister. Sansa was clutching an overnight bag, her hair styled and her lipstick fresh. Words escaped her.

“Are you going to invite me in?” she asked, brows raised expectantly.

“Uh,” she shifted her weight to her other foot, “what are you doing here, Sans?”

Her sister frowned. “Visiting you. Sorry, you know this is real right? I’m not apparition. Are you okay? Are you high?”

Arya snapped out of her shock and rolled her eyes. The moment she stepped aside, Sansa stepped in and began admiring the insides of the house. 

“I haven’t been here in years,” she sighed, “it looks the same. It’s nice. It’s quaint. Is there someone here to take my bags?”

“Nope,” Arya laughed, shutting the front door. 

“Oh. Has my room been prepared?”

“Sansa, you didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“Yes, I just thought the bedrooms might be prepared anyway. For guests.”

“No one lived here until a month ago, and I have had no guests. Every room except mine is pretty bare. Dusty, even.”

Sansa waved her hand, “no bother. I’ll sort it out.”

She didn’t doubt that. Her sister had a special talent for getting things done exactly as she wanted them. After leaving her bags in the hall, Arya lead her into the main living room. They sat in separate armchairs, on practically opposite ends of the room. The fire Osha had recently lit crackled between them.

“How many staff do you have?” Sansa asked after a prolonged and awkward silence.

“Well, considering that as I said, _ no one lived here until a month ago _, not many. Mum and dad paid a couple of staff to stay on and look after it whilst we weren’t here. Osha is still here, and Hodor who works in the stables. Ms Mordane, too. And there’s Gendry, who’s new.”

Sansa frowned, as if Arya were stupid. 

“What?” she bristled, annoyed.

Sansa shuffled in her armchair. “Gendry isn’t new.”

“Yes, he is,” Arya said slowly, “otherwise, I would’ve remembered him.”

She could’ve sworn her sister had gone a little red, though that could’ve just been the light from the fire. “Father got him a small weekend job here when I was 15. I only remember it because I thought he was quite cute, in a small-town, village boy sort of way. God, how embarrassing. I had a crush on him that summer we came here, which ended up being the _ last _summer we came here, actually. He was older than me, so I didn’t have a chance anyway, really.”

Arya tried to collect her jaw from the floor. Why couldn’t she remember him at all? She would’ve been 12, so she hadn’t been a little kid. But every memory she searched through of her last summer at Acorn Hall was void of images of Gendry. Maybe he’d looked completely different as a teen, completely unrecognisable. 

Now she just felt _ bad. _ What if Gendry had remembered her? Oh, god. That day, in her kitchen, when he’d dropped his mug. Had he recognised her then? Surely Arya had changed in 6 years. He might not of. But...

She sunk deep into her chair. “Oh.”

“Do you really not remember?”

Heat flushed her cheeks, “not really.”

“Well, I do. Is he around? What does he look like now?”

“Fine,” she snapped a little too harshly, “he looks fine. Healthy and fine.”

Sansa just about failed to hide a smirk that nearly sent Arya over the edge.

“Good,” she inspected her hands, as if they were wildly interesting. “I suppose I’ll see him later, then.”

“I suppose you will.” she mumbled.

She didn’t — not that night. Arya found Osha, who was just about to go home, and asked her to locate some bedding for Sansa’s room. Then she made them both mugs of hot tea, and said goodnight. Sansa’s old bedroom hasn’t changed either; the walls were a soft lemon colour, the curtains floral and pretty. A large king sized bed sat in the middle of the room, with an iron bed frame painted white and twisted in curls. Family photos littered the walls.

Arya lay awake in her own bed, trying to unearth some forgotten memory of Gendry from her childhood. Perhaps she’d been too caught up in her own life, in running through fields and climbing trees, that she’d had little care for who was around her. She shouldn’t feel guilty for that — she’d been 12 — but part of her did. She’d vehemently tried to reject the image of her as another spoiled, privileged rich kid. 

The singular photo in her room of her family together at Christmas when she was 10, stared at her from across the room. Her father smiled at her, warm, strong, fatherly. She pulled the covers over her head and tried to shut out the waves of guilt.  


**Author's Note:**

> because this is like 6k words the next update might not be for a while as i write a chapter that matches that !! but i hope this was somewhat interesting and enjoyable ahaha  
follow my twitter [kahnwaIdjonas](https://twitter.com/kahnwaidjonas) or on tumblr at [virginiakings](https://virginiakings.tumblr.com)


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